


Horror Bites

by RedLily1104



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ghosts, Haunting, Other, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26907055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLily1104/pseuds/RedLily1104
Summary: A collection of original horror short stories by Red Lily.





	Horror Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A college student deals with an evil ancestral ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also made a visual novel of this story. You can download it on [itch.io](https://red-lily-games.itch.io/mirabilia) or [Gamejolt](https://gamejolt.com/games/mirabilia/541244)!

It’s been at least three days since I’ve realized I’m haunted. Literally. I’m being tailed by a ghost. Go figure. As if finals and midterms weren’t stressful enough. Now I’m being tailed by what I can only describe as a pale old man carrying a knife and a hook. At least, I think it’s a hook. I can’t tell.

Who am I? It’s simple, really. My name is Sheridan Wayne Householder. Most call me “Sherry” for short. I’m a college student from the Midwest who’s studying in Ohio. What’s my major? I wish I could say it was pleasant given the circumstances. But then again, that’s how it is.

I’m here in my apartment, in the middle of a massive thunderstorm. I can tell a blackout is imminent given how much the lights are flickering. I want to say it’s pleasant, but again. I’m haunted by a ghost.

“What a nice, pleasant way to spend an evening...”

I look out through the window, focusing on the heavy rainfall. It gives me something to think about other than my predicament. Certain details are still a bit fuzzy, but I remember how it all started.

This past summer, I was visiting family in northern Iowa. Farm people, honest and sturdy like the crops they grow. They like to tell me I should’ve studied poetry instead of criminal justice.

My folks and I spent two weeks in the countryside catching up with family. Seeing how they’re doing. Thanks to the way my school is structured, I can only see them about once a year. Naturally, I tried to make the time spent there count.

Lia Jones is the historian of our family and my cousin. She’s been dealing with some health problems these past few years, inherited from an aunt who is now deceased. My folks and I drove down to the town cemetery to locate different ancestors. Some of whom Lia found through extensive research.

Our first stop was in the East Creek Cemetery. Home to green lands and, you guessed it, gravestones. My father’s side of the family is heavily spiritual, hence we avoided stepping on the graves themselves.

It was fascinating, in a morbid sense. I felt like I was walking through a time capsule buried six feet under. Seeing the people who had lived and died, and were now buried here. Some names I picked out, like Tillinghast and Merfeld, I would save later. I just knew my roommate Wesley would grill me for details later.

Looking at the different headstones, we found different ancestors as far back as the American Revolution. One ancestor fought alongside George Washington himself, Lia said. Generations later, another would fight by Abraham Lincoln’s side. The feeling I had when I learned that was unreal.

Stepping over to an unfamiliar headstone, I narrowly dodged a grass snake. The tiny thing slithered under the headstone, where I saw the name “Lola Merfeld Bellamy.” From what Lia said, Lola was a German immigrant who later changed her name to become more American. Her maiden name was Gutzmer.

Lia then named several other people in our family line from the Civil War era. Calvin P. Bellamy, nephew to Lola M. Bellamy. Signed up for the war at the tender age of 18. Participated in many battles when he was 19. Lost his brother to a bayonet wound. He later died in Calvin’s arms.

Looking at Calvin’s headstone, I see the words “Illinois Infantry, Company H” inscribed on it. Along with the metal star nearby. Lia said it was to denote he was a Civil War veteran. 

We looked around some more, finding family members we never knew existed. I then noticed Lola’s husband was missing.

When I asked Lia, she said it was because they were buried in different burial plots. Weird. What married couple, even in that day and age, wouldn’t want to be buried side-by-side for all eternity?

I asked Lia this, and her expression turned... anxious. As though she were afraid of what the answer would bring. I didn’t pry. Thinking back now, I probably should have.

Our next stop was the Black Lake Cemetery a few miles over. Pleasant name, ain’t it. We stepped out of the cars to see what Lia dug up this time about our family history. Excuse the pun, please.

We discovered another ancestor who immigrated from Germany to America to escape the conscript. Except he ended up smack dab in the middle of the American Revolution. Funny how that turned out.

Looking over the tombstones in this cemetery, I came across a rather strange fellow. J. H. Bellamy, the husband to miss Lola over at East Creek. A rather notorious fellow. Some say he was the embodiment of the devil himself, as they would say back then.

I wish I knew it wasn’t a joke. Lia, curiously enough, avoided talking about dear old J. H. until she couldn’t avoid the topic anymore. When she did, I understood why she was so hesitant.

John Henry Bellamy was the full name of old J. H. To the public eye of the local Illinois town, he was the picture-perfect image of a loving husband and a good father. Dig a little deeper, and you’ll find a heart blacker than coal.

That’s right. J. H. Bellamy was nowhere near as squeaky clean as he presented himself to be. In fact...

“...”

J. H. was a serial killer. 

A serial killer. That’s right. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Lia was so hesitant on talking about him. With a history that bloody, I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. I’m amazed Lia kept her sanity after learning something like that.

Back to the topic at hand. J. H was known to the town as the “Illinois Ripper”. This was before Jack the Ripper became known. Not that I want to get into a debate about it. I’d rather not stay anywhere near it if I can help it.

He started out small. Killing and torturing small animals, playing with sharp objects, not caring about his safety or anyone else’s. He was a textbook psychopath.

The killings started with widows and widowers. At first, people thought it was a local wild animal. But then the killings became more frequent, more complicated. The town’s law enforcement couldn’t deny anymore that there was a killer in town. And not a wild animal.

The final tipping point was in the deaths of a pair of sisters. Aletha and Alura Tillingast. Daughters of the town’s general store owner. Both were born in the same year but died a year apart. Technically speaking, Aletha was the Illinois Ripper’s last victim.

Alura, from what Lia described, wasn’t someone who would take the death lying down. No. She organized a search for the true killer, aided by the townsfolk who had lost relatives to the Ripper. She searched high and low, every nook and cranny. Until she found the true reason behind Aletha’s death.

Lo and behold, it was the last person they expected.

J. H. tried to plead innocent, even using his charms to try and sway the public to his side. Naturally, with this much evidence they acquired against him, his case was lost. They executed him after the jury found him guilty.

In any other story, this would be where the heroes were swiftly praised and celebrated for years to come. Not so with Alura. Shortly after J. H. was executed, she died in a carriage accident. At least, it looked like an accident. People with sharp eyes noticed it was anything but an accident.

No one knows what happened afterward. Everyone carried on with their lives as though they hadn’t lost over a dozen people to the Illinois Ripper. Anyone with a working pair of eyes will say there is still a fear hanging over the townsfolk.

And now, that fear is hanging over me.

How did I get to this point in life? Well, I’d say I knew. Except I’d be lying. I have no idea how or why the ghost decided to tail me instead of literally anyone else, but here I am. I can see him sitting in that chair over there, looking at me as though I were its next target. For all I know and care, I could be.

I first noticed when I got back to my apartment for classes and work, weird things started happening. My roommate Wesley started complaining of a stomach ache not long after I came back. Like the killings, it started out small. Then it escalated to the point he had to have his stomach pumped for substances he didn’t remember consuming.

Wesley didn’t have a history of substance abuse, so it came as a shock to everyone. It eventually got to the point where they had to remove him from the apartment so he could recover. Strangely enough, the minute he got away from me, he recovered instantly.

It didn’t stop there. Various coworkers of mine had to be dismissed from work due to sudden illnesses. All of which were traced back to me. At first, it was suspected that I was somehow poisoning them. All they were missing was a motivation.

Fortunately for me, the cops found no illegal substances in my house. And the doctors didn’t discover some unknown disease of which I would be Patient Zero. None of that wonderful zombie apocalypse nonsense.

Unfortunately, however, I ended up losing my job. I couldn’t keep up with my classes with little to no income, so I ended up having to withdraw from my courses. My parents couldn’t understand why. And frankly, I wish I knew what to tell them.

Before all this started happening, I had only a vague belief that ghosts were real. Now, I definitely believe they are.

Calling upon old classic horror movie tropes, I realized I was haunted when I saw the damn thing in the bathroom mirror. That’s right. I found a ghost in the mirror. Ten points for my awesome deductive skills.

After that little encounter, the puzzle pieces started falling into place. Somehow, in my time in Iowa, I had disturbed this guy’s grave. Badly enough that he wasn’t happy and thought I should be punished. I don’t remember what it was I did. Some part of me says he just wanted an excuse to come out of the grave and do some ghostly hauntings. 

If it was just me he was targeting, I’d be just fine.

But no. This one had to go and make sure my friends and family suffered under the same curse. Sudden food poisoning and worsening of stomach conditions. When I researched some more, I found out Bellamy included poisons in his killings. And he liked to gut his victims. Wonderful.

I used some of the connections I had made in college to reach out to some people. So far, it was only the local private eye, but it was better than nothing. I had done some internship work with him before the ghost wreaked havoc on my studies, and he owed me a favor.

That was yesterday, and today he said he’d have some results.

Was it selfish of me to think things could’ve gone differently? I wanted to say yes if only to ease the conscience. But no. I knew, somehow, that I was the center of this phenomenon. Therefore, I had to make it right somehow.

I see Bellamy out of the corner of my eye, sitting there watching. I want to know what’s going on inside his mind right now, but I am not sure it’s worth the risk. Psychopaths are known charmers. They can sway you to their side without anyone being the wiser. I’d better not step too carelessly.

A while ago, if someone asked me where I’d thought I’d be after ten years, I never would’ve thought I’d be haunted by a ghost. Let alone the ghost of an ancestor who made it his mission to kill as many people as possible. Perhaps, from the justice half of the family, it was in the blood to pursue criminals.

Was this some weird sort of karmic retribution?

I’ll have to ask later. Bellamy looks like he wants to talk.

“You are deeply in thought,” he said. I didn’t respond. Only listened. “You are wondering how you can solve this little dilemma of yours, no?”

If it involves killing people, I’d like a way out, please.

“Reconsider, if you will.”

Listening to him is like listening to a snake charmer. All sweet talk hiding venom. I’m just waiting for the snake to bite.

“A knife speaks so much more loudly than, say, a few soft whispers.”

“...”

I must be pretty desperate if I’m talking to a serial killer’s ghost, of all things. Right now, I’m praying for someone, anyone, to come interrupt this talk just so I don’t have to listen. With him as part of my bloodline, I’m afraid I may have inherited his evil somehow.

“A knife speaks more loudly than whispers?” I ask.

“Indeed, they do.”

I see him cleaning his knife with an old rag. I feel nauseous just looking at it, knowing he’s killed well over a dozen people in his lifetime. What will he do if I start killing people just to make him go away? I seriously doubt it will work, though I get the feeling he’s gonna do it anyway just to spite me.

“The sound of metal against the skin. It’s quite melodic.”

“I wouldn’t exactly use the word ‘melodic’.”

“Oh?” He sets down his knife. “What word would you use, then?”

The first word that comes to my mind is “madness”. Though I doubt the madman would appreciate being called out. I’ve seen enough horror movies to know where this is going.

Though, I will admit. Seeing a horror movie and actually being in a horror story are two completely different things. Main difference is it’s fun to watch people being stupid in a horror film. In reality, being stupid will just get me killed or ruined for life.

Neither of which I want to see happen.

“I’m waiting, Sheridan.”

I bite my tongue to keep from saying anything sharp. I want to say something so badly. Preferably a cutting remark or a smart-ass comment. Of course, that will just speed up how much faster I’ll get ruined or killed. So for now, I just shut my mouth.

“...”

“No words?”

“...”

“Hmhm, how utterly deplorable.”

This man sure has a way with words. First, he describes cutting someone as “melodic”, then he goes and calls me deplorable for having nothing to say. Which is it?

“If you have nothing to say, then I shall take my leave.”

I see him trying to sneak out of the room. But, there’s one thing he’s forgetting.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Ah.”

He picks up his knife.

“Thank you for reminding me.”

I don’t let him see the smirk on my face. One thing I discovered this past week about this haunting. He can’t move more than ten feet away from me without losing some of his power. So long as he’s outside the range, he can’t kill or hurt anyone. Which also comes with the drawback of him somehow knowing where I am at all times.

A small price to pay to make sure no one else gets hurt.

I sigh and sink down into a nearby sofa. A small comfort knowing he’s going to be back soon. As crotchety and impossible to impress as ever. I wonder if Lola ever had to put up with this.

My temporary comfort did not last long. Almost as soon as I sat down, my phone started ringing. Checking the caller ID, it was the private eye I called in for a favor. Hoping for some good news about this predicament, I answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m looking for Sheridan Wayne Householder?”

“This is he.”

“Hi, remember that favor you called in yesterday?”

“I do.”

I hear him flipping through some notes. One thing I liked about this guy was his important experience in taking copious amounts of notes. At first, I thought it was ridiculous. Here, though, it’s been a lifesaver.

“What did you find?”

“Well, to start, you were right about there being family back in Germany.”

Say what?

“It turns out, the entire family didn’t immigrate when Miss Lola did. A sizeable portion of the family stayed where they were, even with all the wars going around. In fact, her sister stayed behind and married into the Heckrodt family.”

“The sewing machine manufacturers?”

“The very same ones behind the brand.”

I couldn’t believe the news I was hearing.

“Are they still in Germany?”

“Their descendants are, yes. Heck, with some strings, I can arrange a meeting for ya. Even a flight.”

Just to be sure this wasn’t too good to be true, I looked up airplane tickets to Germany. The cheapest ticket was for a cheap airline, but it was better than nothing. Looking over my bank account, I found I had some savings left for a trip to Europe and back. I was tempted to believe this was some cheap trick to get me away from my family.

But, given the circumstances, I couldn’t complain. Thanks to him, I had a lead.

“You have to tell me how you get so many strings to pull.”

“It’s all about who you know, kid.”

Ah, right. The good old “friends in high places” trick. I gotta figure out how he got so many in the first place. Are all private eyes this well connected or was it just him?

“Still, you’ve been a great help. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime. Just be sure to take care of that ghost, alright?”

“I will. Thank you.”

With that, the call ended. When Bellamy came back, grumpier than usual, I kept my hopeless facade up. I couldn’t let him know I had found a lead to getting rid of him for good. And hopefully sparing other people from his curse.


End file.
